


Age Before Beauty

by miss_slothrop



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Rekindled Romance, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 12:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_slothrop/pseuds/miss_slothrop
Summary: Now that he’s come back to Overwatch, McCree is starting to feel very self-conscious about getting older and is determined to stop the changes he can see and feel in his body.  It will take some serious convincing to snap him out of this mindset, but his old friend and old flame Mercy is absolutely up to (and for) the task.





	Age Before Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on my writing Tumblr. You can still visit it there at "miss-slothrop-writes."
> 
> This was the first smutty fic I ever wrote in my entire fanfic career. When people on Tumblr gave this fic rave reviews it blew my mind. Thank you to everyone who has come back to read it here and everyone just finding it for the first time.

The dryness of his mouth and the soreness of his throat were the first two things Jesse McCree noticed as he awoke that day. They were telltale signs that he’d been snoring again and it lowered his spirits before he’d even opened his eyes. Slowly and carefully he sat himself up, feeling innumerable joints popping as he rose, and squinted at the bright sunlight flooding in through the window of his room at Watchpoint: Gibraltar. It had been two days since his last deployment with the new Overwatch, but to his dismay he was still feeling the lingering fatigue.

Eyes still barely pried open, McCree shuffled his way into the tiny bathroom across the floor from his bed. The first clear image he saw as he finally adjusted to the light was his own reflection in the mirror over the sink. His dark hair was wild, spiked up in strange places, and his beard was due for a trim, but what he noticed before any of that was the overall shape of his body. He hadn’t worn a shirt to bed and now, in front of the waist-high mirror, he could see himself clearly and felt his spirits sink even lower.

Back when he’d first joined Overwatch he’d been in his teens, and as much as McCree knew that no man could ever keep his youthful body forever, he’d managed to maintain himself at that level for well over a decade. He’d taken immense pride in that, keeping up a constant fitness regimen that even now he still hadn’t deviated from, but in the years that he’d been away from the organization, traveling the world as a lone dispenser of justice, he must’ve let himself slip somehow. It was the only explanation he could accept. He’d been negligent and now? Now his abdomen bore no visible muscle definition whatsoever under the dark trail of hair that ran over it from top to bottom and was even starting to poke out over the waistband of his boxers, as were the burgeoning love handles at his sides.

As he stood there, McCree’s thoughts were interrupted by a long and particularly loud yawn. Unwilling and ultimately unable to stifle it, he rode it out without so much as raising a hand to his mouth. The yawn weakened and he began to come down from it, reaching up with his right hand to scratch at his scalp and smooth his hair into something more passable. His eyes opened back up before his mouth had the chance to fully close and he caught a particularly unflattering glimpse of his reflection in that split second. Arm still raised to the back of his head and tired eyes blinking blearily at his slouched and flabby form, McCree frowned and sighed with force. He had to do something about this, he told himself. His pride was at stake and while that often took a backseat to his work, there was nothing on his schedule today. He’d have to work harder, he thought. Be more careful of what he ate and how much. Spend more time in the Watchpoint’s gym. Work out with heavier weights. He dug around in a drawer to the side of the sink as his mental list lengthened, fishing out a pair of scissors to trim his beard with. He could do this, he told himself, and he’d start right now.

* * * *

The mess hall was relatively quiet as McCree walked in, dressed in his best pair of blue jeans and a red and white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He’d had a bit of a late start that morning and many of his colleagues had already moved on from breakfast. In one far-flung corner of the room sat the two mercs, Junkrat and Roadhog. They were having a conversation that McCree could barely make out as he walked in. Their distance from the doorway did the most to make their words unintelligible to him, but much as he hated to admit it, it was hard enough for him to understand them in closer quarters. The echo of Roadhog’s thick mask obscured his speech worse than it did his face and Junkrat used so many bizarre words on top of his accent that McCree often doubted that he was still speaking English. The chat they were having now could hardly be called a conversation for how much Junkrat dominated it, Roadhog only occasionally answering him with what sounded to McCree like a hum or a grunt as he gingerly slid his mask away from his mouth to lift his mug of tea to his lips. Sat at a much closer table to McCree as he walked further in was Mei-Ling Zhou, the devoted scientist who had managed to save his neck on a few missions since their meager group had come together. She also had a mug of tea and was busying herself with reading something on her tablet, but she looked away long enough to spot McCree walking past and waved at him with a bright smile. McCree returned her wave with his prosthetic left hand, but he kept moving right up to the long table at the side of the mess where what remained of that morning’s food still sat.

The assemblage before him was simple enough, thought McCree. Scrambled eggs, breads for toasting, a couple of picked-over sausages and strips of bacon and one empty tray of what he assumed had probably been hash browns, from the look of the crumbs scattered across it. Just as he approached the table, another figure sped into his peripheral vision and scooped up the bacon to replace it with a new, fuller tray and drop the colder strips on top of the fresh ones. She stopped in the middle of lifting away the emptied tray and gave McCree such a sunny look that, if only for that moment, all his cares of the morning were gone.

“ _Guten Morgen_ , Jesse!” It was Angela Ziegler, formerly the chief medical researcher of Overwatch and now one of the few that had responded to the recall. Most of the new team called her only by her codename, Mercy, but McCree was more prone to using another name for her that had stuck all those years ago when she had first joined.

“Angie!” he called back, hurrying the rest of the way to the table to catch up with her. “You’re still here? I gotta say, I’m surprised.”

“Surprised?” Mercy asked, tilting her head gently to one side in an almost birdlike way. “Why?”

“Well don’t you usually have jogging to do or something?” asked McCree, picking up a fresh plate and surveying his choices. “Or swimming? Or whatever it is you’re doing for your morning workout these days?”

“Ah,” Mercy replied, “it would have been the first option if I didn’t have kitchen duty this morning.” She gestured to the fresh bacon. “You showed up just in time. I was afraid this batch would go to waste.” McCree could feel himself start to drool as he eyed the bacon, the delicious smell of it almost intoxicating.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said as he reached a hand out toward the tray. Just as he picked up one strip and had it halfway to his plate, his planning from earlier came back to him and he froze. He’d told himself he’d try to be more careful now. He wouldn’t be able to eat like he used to anymore. There was no avoiding taking the single bacon strip he already had in his fingers, but perhaps he should cut himself off there. He couldn’t take too much of the eggs, either, so he gave himself only one scoop of the big serving spoon, a portion that took up a quarter of his plate. As he was moving on to put a single slice of bread into the toaster at the far end of the table, Mercy spoke up.

“Jesse,” she said, her brow creased as she examined the plate in his hand, “are you not feeling well this morning? That hardly looks like enough food.”

“I’m doing just fine,” said McCree, his eyes on the toaster. When his bread popped out he managed to catch it with the fingertips of his metal left hand and dropped it straight onto his plate to butter it. He had to lean over the low table to reach the butter and use it, and when he stood back up straight to look for a place to sit and eat he felt a sharp pain in his lower back as an audible crack sounded from that spot. McCree snarled at it, grumbling out a string of choice words as he rubbed at his back with his right hand.

“Are you sure?” asked Mercy, watching him with laser focus.

“Yep,” McCree replied from between his clenched teeth, heaving a faint sigh as the soreness subsided.

“Is there something I can do to help?”

“Nope.” As much as he usually admired his old friend’s persistence, this was one time McCree wanted to avoid Mercy’s scrutiny. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on why, but the mere idea of baring his situation to her, in every possible sense, filled him with dread. Instead he simply walked away without looking back, catching the sound of an indignant huff from behind him. He didn’t turn around until he sat down in the chair he’d picked, smack in the middle of the room and two rows away from the buffet, and when he did he saw Mercy glaring at him as she served herself some breakfast. She headed off to a wholly different part of the mess and now it was McCree’s turn to follow her with his eyes. At first she didn’t look back at him, either, but as she sat down she met his eye, seemingly as she’d planned to do, and set about eating.

McCree looked down at his meager breakfast, but instead of eating any he only sat still a moment and wondered if he had the right idea taking so little. He supposed he’d have to get used to smaller portions if he wanted to take back the physique he could be proud of, but perhaps Mercy had a point and this was overkill. As he thought about it, he picked up his toast and took a big bite, the dryness of the bread grating on his senses. In his hurry to hide his shame from Mercy he’d forgotten to get a cup of coffee. Standing back up with another, shorter grumble, he walked back up to the buffet table and poured himself a full mug with a little cream and sugar. That might be a mistake, he thought, but after so much of his formative years spent drinking the unholy brew his old bosses in Deadlock Gorge had stocked, he’d found he could never touch black coffee again.

He took a long drink from his mug as he walked back to his seat, stealing a not-so-subtle glance at Mercy. She was looking down at her own food and didn’t notice him. What she’d taken for herself was about twice the size of the portion McCree had put on his own plate, he realized, and again he began to think that perhaps he was overdoing this. There had to be some kind of middle ground. Maybe he’d eat a snack later, he thought. Something healthy and with less grease than the items on the table. He tried to think of options, but nothing came to mind and instead he dropped the train of thought to focus on just eating his breakfast and finishing his coffee. He made very quick work of it and rose from the table again silently, noting that the background noise of the Junkers’ one-sided conversation had ceased. The reason for that became clear as he dropped off his empty plate in the plastic bin on the hand cart by the edge of the buffet table. Roadhog had found the bacon tray and had scooped the entire thing up off the table to plop down in front of Junkrat. Now Junkrat was far too busy chewing to talk, but as McCree walked away toward the door, he started a countdown in his head.

_Five…four…three…two…_

Sure enough, though he still couldn’t make out the words, McCree heard Junkrat start up talking again, even with his mouth full. McCree smiled to himself as he left the mess, his usual confidence steadily coming back to him. His breakfast hadn’t filled him up at all, but he felt a new sense of vigor and drive as he walked down the hall. Now it was time to work on part two of his big plan: hitting the gym hard. That much should be easier, he thought; working out had always helped him wake up and feel energized. He stretched his left arm up into the air as he walked, supporting it with his right hand, and then stretched the right up and across the top of his head as he kept right on smiling. At least with this part he’d know exactly what he was doing.

* * * *

Though still as sparsely populated as most of the Watchpoint, McCree found the gym to be much more active than the mess as he walked inside from the locker room. He’d changed into a pair of loose-fitting shorts and a white t-shirt that was perhaps a bit too snug on him. He wasn’t used to working out with a shirt on either way, but in his present condition he felt he couldn’t do without it. As he took a look around the room he could see Tracer and Lucio on side-by-side treadmills, grinning at each other as they steadily turned up the speed on one after the other. Winston was doing chin-ups on a heavily-built bar toward the back of the gym. The bar seemed unusual and must have been custom-built for Winston long ago, McCree figured. Few humans he knew would be able to wrap their hands so completely around a bar that sturdy.

Closer to where McCree stood, Reinhardt was on one of the pull-down machines effortlessly moving an obscene number of weights up and down the track behind him. That wasn’t fair in the least, thought McCree. Reinhardt had just over twenty years on him and still his perfectly visible, defined muscles threatened to rip his gray sleeveless shirt to shreds every time he pulled down the machine’s cords. He’d have to learn that man’s secret someday. If things kept going how they were, that would be the level McCree would need to attain to finally feel good enough to look his reflection in the eye again. For now, though, he’d start with some simple arm curls to ease himself into his routine. Working on what remained of his left arm was a challenge, but one he’d easily risen to years ago and paid no mind now. As he sat down on the bench in front of the rack of free weights, slinging his gym towel over his shoulder to grab a pair of dumbbells, he glanced over at Reinhardt again. He’d just finished on his machine and was giving his face and neck a wipe-down with his own towel. McCree tried not to engage him and to focus on his warm-up instead, but one did not simply sit down in proximity to Reinhardt Wilhelm without being noticed and greeted at his full volume.

“Ah, _guten Morgen_ , my friend!” he called, marching up to the opposite side of the weight rack with an enormous smile on his face. McCree set his weights down before he answered.

“Morning.” He truly wanted to be polite, but Reinhardt’s greeting had startled him badly enough to make him lose count of his curls. If he tried to start again right now there would be no point. Reinhardt would have none of it.

“I have been meaning to find you,” said Reinhardt. “I wanted to tell you how well I felt you performed on our last mission. Your skills have grown substantially over the years. I am proud to serve alongside you again on our new team.”

“Well thanks, big man,” said McCree, smiling back at his elder colleague. “Just doing my job.”

“I had wanted to tell you this yesterday,” Reinhardt continued, “but I did not see you.”

“Yeah,” said McCree, looking off to the side as he scratched at the base of his neck. “I took yesterday to rest up. Slept in longer than I wanted.” He reached down to pick his weights back up and looked into Reinhardt’s one good eye again. “But not anymore.”

“Ah, good,” said Reinhardt, hanging his towel around his neck. “You and I, my friend, we will stand the test of time!”

McCree chuckled. “You bet your bottom dollar.”

“Ha!” Reinhardt laughed. “Such spirit, too! It is my hope that it stays with you. I must leave you now, my friend, but until the next time on the battlefield!”

“See you around, big man,” said McCree, reaching up to give Reinhardt a tiny salute with two fingers. Once Reinhardt was gone he breathed a heavy sigh of relief and got back to work. What he’d do next would take a lot of focus; he couldn’t afford to have his concentration broken like that again. He’d completely forgotten what number he’d left off on for his arm curls, so he started over from the beginning and sank deeper and deeper into his own head.

* * * *

Some time later, though exactly how much he didn’t know, McCree was almost completely exhausted. He’d gone through his normal motions long before and found his original routine to be just as easy as it had ever been. Even pushing himself a modest amount had been easy, so he’d added more weight to each machine and more reps on each of them until his arms and legs felt like they might fall off and each breath he took was like inhaling flames. He was trying to do sit-ups without an anchor when he heard someone walk in.

“Jesse?” It was Mercy again. McCree paused, lying on his back with his knees bent toward the ceiling, and turned his head toward her. She wasn’t dressed for the gym, he noticed, instead wearing the blouse, slacks and lab coat combination she always wore when she wasn’t being deployed. She was staring down at him with her hands on her hips and a disapproving look in her eyes.

“Hello again, Angie,” McCree said between loud huffs as he caught his breath. “You don’t look like you’re here to work out.”

“No,” she said, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “I came here to find you. Winston said you would still be in here. I almost didn’t believe him.”

“What?” McCree propped himself up on his elbows to look around the room. To his great surprise, Winston was gone from his chin-up bar. Tracer and Lucio were gone, too, leaving him completely alone in the gym. “Well, would you look at that. Didn’t even see him leave.”

“He left over an hour ago,” Mercy said sharply, sending a chill down McCree’s spine. He didn’t usually react so strongly to his friends’ ire, but things were different with Mercy. They always had been. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” said McCree, putting his hands back behind his head and planting his feet into the gym floor.

“Forgive me,” said Mercy as McCree started his sit-ups over again, “but this time I simply cannot believe that. You are behaving very strangely and that is and always will be something I will worry about.”

McCree flopped against the floor with a pained grunt. “Fine, if you insist.” He took a moment to breathe, hoping Mercy couldn’t see anything through his sweat-drenched t-shirt. “I could use a spotter while you’re in here.” He wiggled his trainer-clad feet up and down. “Do you mind?” Mercy didn’t move. “I’m almost done,” he said, perhaps with too much acid in his voice, but Mercy finally obliged and knelt at his feet to hold his toes down. “I can talk while I work,” said McCree with a grin. “Ah, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Oh, far too well,” said Mercy, returning his look. McCree chuckled and started his sit-ups anew, adding in some twists to the side on every other rep so his elbows would come close to connecting with his knees on each opposite side.

“So,” he began, his breathing growing deeper, “what has you so concerned for little old me all of a sudden?”

“Well to start,” said Mercy, “you haven’t truly been acting yourself for two days now. I think it started after your last deployment.” McCree kept his eyes on her to show he was listening, though the sound of his labored breaths made it difficult to hear her. “The mission report contains nothing out of the ordinary for a standard daylight escort, so it wasn’t the mission itself. What was it?” McCree didn’t answer, but he picked up the pace of his sit-ups. “Jesse, tell me.” Mercy paused for a beat. “Please.” McCree grumbled something under his breath and slowed himself to a stop, lying back against the floor with his hands resting on either side of his head. There really was no avoiding this after all.

“It’s me,” he said at last. “ _I’m_ the problem. It’s been two days since that mission and damn it, I’m still feeling it. Even woke up sore this morning.” He coughed once as he caught his breath, hiding it behind his prosthesis. “I hate to say this, Angie, but I think I’m going downhill. I’ve never taken this long to bounce back from a mission before.”

“And is that why you barely ate at breakfast this morning?” asked Mercy, a faint hint of slyness in her eyes. “And why you spent so long in the gym? With a shirt on?” McCree averted his eyes from her, his voice dropping to just above a mumble as his breathing evened out.

“I…may be putting some weight on,” he replied. “Not much, but I’m trying to nip it in the bud.” He reached a hand up to scratch at his chest. His shirt and the hair underneath it hadn’t been getting along all morning. “I don’t get it, Angie. I work hard. I never _stopped_ working hard. Why am I starting to look like I don’t even try?” He sat himself up halfway, looking down at his belly for a second. “It don’t make sense.”

“Yes it does,” said Mercy with a thin smile. “To me that sounds perfectly normal.”

“And how’s that?” asked McCree.

Mercy didn’t answer right away, her teeth peeking out over her lower lip as she worried at it for a moment. “It’s normal for a man who’s getting older.”

“Hey!” McCree pulled himself too quickly into an upright sitting position and regretted it instantly as he felt his shoulder crack. He winced and groaned at the sensation, glaring at Mercy as she broke out into a fit of laughter.

“I’m speaking purely as a medical professional,” she managed to say through her mirth, “but you may have just reinforced my point.”

“Great,” McCree sighed. “So my fate is sealed, then.”

“Oh, hardly,” said Mercy with a wave of her hand. “It just isn’t something to fear. You’re still as healthy as you ever were.” McCree only stared at her, blinking very slowly. “If you want me to prove it to you,” she continued, “I could give you a full physical examination tomorrow. My schedule for the day is clear. Would you like that?”

“Yeah,” said McCree, “I think I would.”

“And you know,” said Mercy, looking off to one side as her shoulders rose up toward her face, “if you really want to be healthier, you could-”

“ _No,_ ” said McCree with an uncharacteristic sharpness. Mercy opened her mouth to speak again, but he pointed his finger at her. “Yeah, I know what you’re gonna say and my answer’s still ‘no.’ Bad habit or not, I’m keeping it.” He hauled himself up off the floor, taking some time to re-orient himself and stretch. “I’m gonna hit the showers now, so I’ll see you at lunch.” As if it heard and understood his words, his stomach decided to growl loudly right then. He rested his flesh-and-blood hand over it and grimaced as Mercy fell into another laughing fit. “Shit,” McCree muttered. “I did mean to eat a snack this morning. Really.” He turned to pick up his towel and happened to spy something appealing across the room as he rose. On a counter near the doors to the locker rooms sat a bunch of ripe bananas with nothing else around them. “Huh,” he said with a smile. “Looks like I found my solution already.” He crossed the distance in almost no time and pulled one banana off the bunch, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his lips as he peeled it.

“Jesse, wait!” Mercy’s warning came just as McCree was lifting the end of the banana to his mouth. As he looked up toward her, he saw what had alarmed her. Winston stood in the doorway with his eyes trained on McCree. He could almost feel his own face turn ghostly pale as he lowered the banana from his mouth.

“Howdy, big fella,” McCree said with the faintest of wavers in his voice. “These up for grabs? I had no idea they were yours.”

Winston chuckled in reply. “No need to worry,” he said. “You can have it. I’m certainly not offended. Just make sure you don’t tell Lena.”

“She’ll never know,” said McCree as he took a bite.

“You can have the rest of them, too, if you want them,” said Winston. “She gives me so many I fear I can never finish them fast enough.”

“Why don’t you say something?” asked Mercy.

“I did once,” said Winston. “It nearly broke her heart.”

“Hey,” said McCree with his mouth full, swallowing quickly before he spoke any more. “It’s a tempting offer, giving me all of these, but I’m gonna have to pass. You and me would just be in the same boat.”

“Mm,” Winston hummed, “I see.”

“Well,” said Mercy with a shrug, “I suppose I could take them if no one else will.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ziegler,” said Winston, his eyes practically lighting up behind his glasses. “Although, perhaps you could save just one for me? Maybe two?”

“Of course, if you want me to,” said Mercy, smiling like the sun. McCree became so distracted as he admired it that he only remembered the empty banana peel in his hand when he moved to scratch at his jawline and shoved it into his beard by accident.

“Son of a…” he hissed, wiping traces of the peel out of his facial hair and hoping no one in present company had seen him do that. From the pair of raised eyebrows he received from them, he assumed they hadn’t and were just baffled by his sudden exclamation. “Alright,” he said just to break the tension, “I’m really heading out this time.” He spotted a garbage can near the counter and balled up the peel to take a far-off shot into it. The peel landed inside in a perfect swoosh, never touching any part of the rim. “Much obliged for the food, Winston. Angie, when did you say lunch was?”

“I didn’t,” said Mercy, “but it’s in…” she looked down at her wristwatch, “fifteen minutes. You’d better hurry. Reinhardt is in charge of the kitchen this time.” McCree had turned away from the others and was just taking his first steps toward the men’s locker room, but he stopped in his tracks and hung his head with another heavy sigh.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll make it quick. If I am late, don’t let that Aussie kid run off with my share.” He didn’t even wait for his friends’ responses before disappearing into the locker room to wash off the nasty film he felt forming on his skin. He was grateful for the solitude in the showers. Even with all the praise and advice his friends and teammates had given him, it would take more than just kind words to banish the self-consciousness that still hung over him like a dark cloud.

* * * *

After lunch McCree took a break up on the roof of the Watchpoint’s central building, figuring he needed it after overdoing his morning workout. He’d rolled himself a cigar and was leaning back against the tall edge of an air shaft to smoke it, the brim of his hat tilted over his face to better block out the sun. Holding the smoke in his mouth calmed him. He could look at a situation with new eyes on a smoke break. Now he was mulling over what Mercy had said to him.

_It’s normal for a man who’s getting older._ The idea shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. All his life McCree had believed that with age would come only great skill and experience and so far it had proven to be true. He’d been an asset to the Deadlock Gang when he was a foolish kid, but once he’d joined Blackwatch his ability had grown beyond even his own former expectations. He’d done good work with that team and their influence, at least in the early days, had given him everything he’d needed to go off on his own after…no. He wasn’t going to follow that thought. He blew the smoke out of his mouth and took another drag, trying not to look down at his prosthetic forearm propping him upright. In an effort to reign in his mind, he instead thought about his new team, assembled from new faces and old friends alike. Working with them brought him a joy that he couldn’t recall feeling in his time alone after Blackwatch. Now he had people to watch his back again. People who cared about him. People who he, in turn, cared about, too. People like Mercy.

He loosed another cloud of smoke from his mouth, posing everything just right for it to come out in artful rings. His mind already stuck on Mercy, he couldn’t help but think of her halo-shaped headpiece that she wore as part of her Valkyrie suit. Now here was a train of thought lined with good memories. They hadn’t always been stationed at the same Watchpoints and the distance had put a heavy damper on certain aspects of their relationship as time had progressed, but it was and always had been a joy to see her. McCree had assumed she was much younger than him when they’d met so long ago and could recall exactly how shocked he’d felt when it came to light that they were practically the same age. Of course, once that had been established, nothing in their view had stood in the way of getting together. He’d spent more nights in her room by the medical facilities than his own, since the Blackwatch barracks were all crammed together with thin walls and two or three bunks to each space. If anyone had noticed, no one had said a word to him about it, though he swore he’d caught Commander Reyes giving him sideways looks whenever he’d spotted the two of them talking.

With different positions within Overwatch came vastly different postings and for long stretches at a time, McCree had been sent off to some of the most remote parts of the globe while Mercy had been shuffled between the main, high-finance Watchpoints to conduct her medical research. It became a rarity to see her in person at all, so they’d stayed in touch through video calls with almost too many layers of security and monitoring on the lines. With their privacy gutted, they’d made the change from lovers to close friends reluctantly but smoothly, telling each other all they could about their respective work and propping each other up in times of need. It wasn’t the same, but it was still a happy time to look back on and McCree felt the sappy smile creep onto his face in the middle of another drag on his cigar.

His departure from Blackwatch had almost totally severed his communication with Mercy for so many years. The remaining shreds of connection had died off one by one as he put as much distance between himself and the organization as he could, lest he get caught up in the storm he’d seen coming from a mile off. Still, when he’d answered Winston’s recall after a few weeks of soul-searching and had walked through Watchpoint: Gibraltar’s doors to find out who else had decided to turn up, one of the first people he’d seen there had been her. Mercy’s face had lit up like the sun after the rain and she’d practically thrown herself at him with a gleeful shout of his name right in the middle of a crowded room. Years of conditioning for maintaining his Western bravado had prevented him from scooping her up into his arms, burying his face in her golden hair and letting himself shed tears of joy, but the thought of it had been surprisingly hard to resist. When they parted, he saw that she _had_ been crying against his metal chest plate and suddenly getting out any words at all had become very difficult. As he remembered that day, tears tugged at his eyes again and he sniffled, inhaling some of his smoke and choking hard on it. That threw him into a coughing fit, but he had it under control in no time, effortlessly transitioning into a chuckle. Mercy had tried to get him to give up his cigars since forever, but there were some concessions he just wasn’t willing to make. McCree sniffled again, harder this time to gather everything together, and spat about six feet across the roof. His throat clear, he heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed more against the air shaft rim, switching hands with his cigar to wipe away the sparse wetness around his eyes with his right wrist.

Switching the cigar back again, he took another drag on it and stared up at the sky. For all things had changed since he left, he was grateful for what had stayed the same, even after years of separation. A wonderful warmth ran through him as he blew away more smoke and he paused before bringing any more into his mouth as he took a moment to simply smile to himself. He didn’t deserve this. He hadn’t back then and he probably still didn’t now in spite of all his efforts. Even so, by some miracle he’d found Mercy and she’d found him and he’d sooner rot in jail for a thousand years than spoil their friendship. His eyes grew heavy as he sat still and relaxed, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to notice. The next thing he knew, he was opening them back up to the beginnings of sunset and a chilly wind blowing across the rooftop.

“Shit,” he muttered, gradually pushing himself away from the air shaft and getting to his feet with some trouble. There was a terrible crick in his neck from sleeping upright and no amount of rolling seemed to make it go away. McCree stuck his burnt-out cigar between his teeth and used both hands to brush all the dirt and bits of tar off his backside, giving his whole body a stretch afterward. He groaned as he came out of it, feeling a little bit better, and headed for the ladder back down. It wasn’t yet time for dinner by his calculation and he might still have some time for target practice beforehand. This day had passed far too quickly for his liking and had felt like a near-total waste, but tomorrow held promise for him. Maybe then, after getting Mercy’s professional conclusion, he could put this nagging self-doubt to rest.

* * * *

McCree turned up for his physical after breakfast the next day, leaning on the doorjamb of Mercy’s little office with a smirk on his face. She looked up from her desk and giggled when she saw his expression.

“ _Guten Morgen,_ ” she said. “I was just getting the documentation program ready for you. What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” said McCree, his thumbs pressed under his belt on either side of the big golden buckle. “Just wondering if you’re prepared.”

“Prepared?” Mercy raised an eyebrow at him. “What ever could you mean?” McCree didn’t speak, answering her question with a waggle of his eyebrows. Mercy got up from her chair with a squeal of laughter and bumped the back of her hand against his chest. “Oh stop it. As glad as I am to see you acting yourself again, we must keep this visit strictly professional.”

“Understood,” said McCree, standing himself up straight. He looked off to the side and scratched at the back of his head, his expression turning sheepish. “Really _I’m_ the one trying to be prepared.”

“Relax, Jesse,” said Mercy, turning away from him to walk into the facilities proper. “You probably have nothing to worry about. Follow me now. We’ll get started with the basics. Heartbeat, breathing, blood pressure, and so on. After that will be a stress test, which I’m sure you’ll pass with flying colors.”

“That’s mighty optimistic of you,” said McCree as he followed. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“It is,” said Mercy, stopping at the nearest exam table. “Alright, have a seat on the table and take off your shirt.” A chill ran through McCree in spite of himself at the prospect, but after the briefest moment of pause he did as he was instructed, undoing buttons as he walked up to the exam table and hopped up on top of it. Slowly and deliberately he pulled his shirt off, working hard to slide his left sleeve off over the elbow of his prosthesis. He watched Mercy like a hawk for any sign of a negative reaction, feeling some color rising in his cheeks, but he saw nothing from her. She only looked at him impassively, like his exposed body was something she saw every day of her life. She picked up a stethoscope from beside the table and put it on. “Stay still for me,” she said as she reached the flat end toward his chest. Against his better judgment, McCree still jerked away on contact.

“Ooh!” he cried, shrinking away from its touch. “It’s _cold._ ” Mercy only gave him a stern look, her lips pursed, and McCree got back into an upright sitting position as she tried again. He endured the chill of the stethoscope through the heart and breathing exams, feeling thankful that it lessened the more contact it had with his skin. After that, Mercy checked his eyes, his ears and even the inside of his mouth for good measure before prepping the blood pressure cuff. “So,” said McCree, if only to break the silence, “what’s your prognosis so far?”

“As I assumed,” said Mercy, noting the results on her personal tablet, “everything is healthy and normal. For a smoker.” The look she gave him as she said it raised his hackles.

“Really?” McCree said, crossing his arms. “You’re gonna start this up again right now?”

“I know you know the risks,” said Mercy, eyes on her work again. “I can’t fathom why you would continue in the face of them.”

“Because I _like_ it,” said McCree, the same bite from yesterday in his tone. “And you should know better than to get on my back about this again. It’s a fight you’re gonna lose.”

“ _Jesse!_ ” Mercy snapped, glaring right into McCree’s eyes in a perfect picture of fury. He stared her down with refined precision, neither of them moving for what felt like an eternity, until Mercy shrank away with ire still on her face. “Very well,” she said in a hushed tone that carried some remaining venom in it. “We’ll continue with the examination.” She avoided McCree’s eye as she brought the blood pressure cuff over to the table.

“Angie,” said McCree, leaning to the side and dipping his head down to get her attention. “Angie, look at me.” Mercy gave him no reaction. “C’mon, Angie. No hard feelings. Just look at me a minute?” Mercy wavered in her motions and McCree smirked when he caught it. “Aaaaaangie.”

“What?” Mercy spat, whipping her head around to glower at him.

“Why does it bother you so much?”

“Because,” said Mercy, averting her eyes from his just a bit, “I want you to live.”

“I’m living right now,” said McCree, trying to recapture their eye contact.

“That’s not what I mean,” said Mercy, moving her face away so that he could only look at her in profile.

“Sure,” said McCree. “So what _do_ you mean?”

Mercy sighed in resignation, her shoulders sinking. “I want you to live a long and healthy life free of problems you could easily prevent.” Finally she looked him in the eye again. “Is that really so much for me to ask of you?”

“Hey,” said McCree, reaching his right hand out to her, “don’t worry about that. In this line of work I’m more likely to go at the business end of an enemy’s gun than the back end of my cigar.” Mercy only stared at his outstretched hand, a wet sheen in her eyes. “That’s where you and the rest of the team come in. We can all prevent that together. How does that sound?”

“Acceptable,” said Mercy, taking his hand at last. “Not ideal, but acceptable.”

“Well,” said McCree, “that’s all I’m asking of _you._ ” Mercy cracked a smile at him and he sat up tall again.

“This doesn’t change very much,” said Mercy, releasing his hand to get back to work. “I’ll still disapprove as long as you persist.”

“Aw, Angie!” McCree leaned back on his hands. “You’re killing me here.”

“Quite the opposite, in fact,” said Mercy with a dramatic flourish of her hands as she began wrapping the cuff around McCree’s right arm. “And I was serious before. In spite of your habit, you’re really doing very well according these examinations so far.”

“I do my best,” said McCree, taking the weight off his arm and holding himself as still as he could. “We can’t all be Reinhardt, though. How does that man do it, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Mercy, beginning to inflate the cuff. “Probably just good luck with genes, I would suppose.” She giggled and looked up for a second. “Though if you were to ask him, I’m sure he would say something like…” she stood herself up as tall as she could and raised a fist in the air, pushing her voice into her chest as she shouted, “‘Precision German engineering, baby!’” McCree sputtered and fell apart into wild laughter, nearly sliding off the exam table. He knew he was messing up the exam and he tried to rein himself in, but that only made it worse and his laughter grew in strength and pitch until he was wheezing for lack of breath.

“Oh _damn,_ ” he said, feeling the air flowing back out of the cuff around his arm as he fought to breathe. “You’re…” he coughed. “You’re probably right.” He took a few more labored breaths, some stray laughs scattered between them, and regained his composure as best he could. “Shit, I’m sorry, Angie. We’re gonna have to start that one over, huh?”

“Unfortunately yes,” she said, undoing the cuff to wrap it back around McCree’s arm. “Stay perfectly still this time.”

“I’m…I’m trying,” McCree said through more bubbling laughter. “It ain’t easy.” Mercy tried to look stern again, but he could see the smile she was forcing from her face peeking out at the corners of her lips and it was enough to keep him laughing for a few seconds more. Finally he cleared his throat loudly and sat up straight and stiff once again. “Okay,” he said. “I can do it now. Let’s get ‘er done.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on just breathing, feeling his chest rising and falling until his pulse under the cuff wasn’t pounding so hard and Mercy was undoing the Velcro.

“Good,” she said curtly, putting the machine back where she’d taken it from. “We can start the stress test now.”

“What kind of stress test?” asked McCree, resting his hands on either side of him along the edge of the exam table.

“Physical exertion,” said Mercy, crossing the room to another door. “We’ll need the big equipment for it, so follow me again.” She looked down at McCree’s legs as she turned around in the doorway. “You might not want to wear those jeans for this, though. Or those shoes. You’ll need to run on the treadmill and I can’t imagine that would be comfortable.” McCree slid himself off the table and followed, pausing beside her with a smug half-smile.

“If you just want a good look at my ass, all you have to do is ask me, you know.” Mercy’s face was entirely blank and he stared at her for a moment, looking for even one scrap of a reaction. All she gave him was a raise of both eyebrows and a nod in the direction of the next room. “Well alright, then,” he said, feeling his whole self deflate. Mercy finally did smile at him as he complied with her suggestion and they started to get the test underway. He spent the next few minutes jogging on the medical wing’s treadmill in his boxers and trying not to think about how much it would hurt to take off the sticky sensors Mercy had placed all over his chest and arms. When the time finally came he cringed as he did it, biting back foul words as he ripped them off one by one. “Alright, now that’s all over, what does it say on your screen?”

“Nothing I didn’t expect,” said Mercy with a warm smile. “Just like before. Everything about your body is normal and healthy.”

“But how can that be?” McCree asked, looking down at himself. “I sure as hell don’t look the same as I used to.”

“True,” said Mercy, looking his midsection up and down, “but that changes nothing about your overall physical condition. Here.” She stepped closer and reached out her hands, pressing the tips of her thumbs against his abdomen. “Can you feel that?”

“It kinda tickles,” said McCree, watching her hands with rapt attention.

“Not _that,_ ” said Mercy. “The resistance. How about here?” She moved her hands along his sides, pushing against his skin. “Your muscles are in the same condition they always have been. That’s credit to you for maintaining them. The only difference is that, over time, your body changes the way it manages its resources, storing more for times of extreme need. Do you understand?”

McCree blinked once very slowly. “Maybe.” Mercy rolled her eyes.

“What I mean to tell you,” she said, “is that you look this way _because_ you are healthy. If you really want to, you can change your diet and take in less of what your body is storing rather than using right away, but it is far from an absolute necessity.” She moved her hands to rest her palms against him on either side. “I will say this over and over until you understand: from a health and medical standpoint, you have nothing to worry about!”

“And what about my recovery time?” asked McCree. “You got an answer for that one, too?”

Mercy’s face fell. “That, unfortunately, is what it is. You will need to account for it, but that is no reason to reduce your overall level of activity. Keeping yourself active will actually help you there.”

McCree looked up and hummed a sigh through his nose. “If you say so.” Silence hung between them for a moment and in that time he realized something. “Uh, Angie?” He pointed down at her hands, still resting just above his hips. “You can let go now.”

“What? Oh!” Mercy jerked her hands backward with surprising speed, her face turning bright red. “ _Mein Gott,_ I’m sorry!” She raised a hand to her cheek, her fingers splaying across her eye and mouth, as well. “I didn’t even realize.”

“Aw, it’s okay,” said McCree, the biggest and most devious grin on his face. “I get it. Don’t blame you, either.” He held his chest high and rested his hands on his hips. “You just can’t pass up an opportunity like this one.” Mercy cracked up loudly, her entire body folding in forward as she jammed her hand over her mouth, and the sight of it raised McCree’s spirits to a height he hadn’t felt in days.

“It really was by accident,” she said once she’d caught her breath, “but it makes me happy to see your old attitude return.”

“Well hey,” said McCree with a shrug of his shoulders, “you’re the one who said I never lost nothing to begin with.” He took a step forward, closing most of the distance between them, and leaned himself down enough to bring his face closer to Mercy’s. “There’s still one test we ain’t tried yet, though. It’ll get you some real important results.” Mercy was staring into his eyes with eager intensity and he leaned a tiny bit closer, lowering his voice to a husky whisper. “What do you say you and me make up for lost time?” As he went in for a kiss, eyes closed and lips parted a crack, his mouth bumped up against a single raised finger and he started.

“Jesse, what did I say before?” said Mercy, an equal amount of mischief to his behind the smile on her face. “Strictly professional.” McCree pulled himself back upright and rubbed at the spot where her finger had been against his lips.

“All the tests are done, Angie,” he said with a sweeping gesture around the room. “I don’t really see what’s stopping us now.”

“This is not the time or place,” said Mercy, turning on her heels and walking back toward her office at the front of the medical facility.

“Alright,” said McCree, his arms crossed over his bare chest. “So what is?”

Mercy paused in her step. “My room? Twenty-one hundred hours?”

McCree grinned again. “I can work with that. We could even make it a dinner date a little bit before.”

“That’s exactly what I was about to suggest,” said Mercy, looking back at him over her shoulder. “We do have an enormous amount of lost time to make up for.”

“You got that right,” said McCree, an airy quality to his voice as he looked Mercy over from behind. Her lab coat hid the subtleties of her figure from that angle, but he only had to fill in the gaps with his memory.

“You should get dressed,” said Mercy, her eye roving up and down McCree’s body. “Stand around like that for too long and you’ll catch cold.”

“What,” said McCree as he started toward where he’d left his clothes, “you ain’t getting tired of the view already, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, no.” Mercy turned herself back around completely. “I can’t understand why you wanted to hide it from me so badly.”

“Well at the time,” said McCree, pulling his shirt back on first, “I didn’t think it’d be so well-received.”

“Oh Jesse,” said Mercy, her voice laced with honey, “you shouldn’t doubt yourself like that. It’s not like you.”

“You got a point there,” said McCree. “Thanks, Angie. Don’t think I could ever say that enough.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t only say it in words, then,” said Mercy, turning away and walking out of view before McCree could reply. His shirt buttoned back up and his pants halfway back on, he chuckled to himself almost darkly.

“Oh just you wait, darlin’. I can think of plenty more ways to say it.”

* * * *

When McCree met Mercy again on the way to the mess, he found her changed out of her usual work attire and into a black collared sweater and brown slacks that perfectly framed her figure. Looking at her, he almost felt silly for sticking with the outfit he’d been wearing all day, but if Mercy had any thoughts on it, she voiced none of them when they spotted each other in the hall. In the mess they gathered their food and sat to have their dinner at a table far from everyone else, dipping in and out of awareness of the rest of the team.

When they did look up from their corner, they found that the others seemed to be returning the favor, each absorbed in their own respective business. The only one who acknowledged them at all was Tracer as she got up to leave. She looked between the two of them back and forth a couple of times, grinned and giggled as she waved to them on her way to the door. Mercy was the only one to wave back and nudged McCree gently in the ribs with her elbow when she realized it. It didn’t hurt him at all, but after he took the hint and waved sheepishly at Tracer he rubbed at the spot where Mercy had nudged him, putting on the most wounded look he could muster. Mercy laughed out loud and brought her hand to his face, resting her palm on his jawline to stroke at his beard with her thumb. McCree dropped the act and just smiled fondly at her, unknowingly leaning forward until she met him halfway.

Their kiss was sudden and brief, but McCree knew he must be smiling like an idiot when he parted from Mercy, if the strain against cracking up on her face was any indication. He leaned in close again, hovering his face in front of hers with a smirk, and Mercy broke down into another bout of laughter before coming back to kiss him again. This one lasted longer and ended with the gentlest nip of McCree’s lower lip. They sat very still for a moment, just watching each other, until Mercy rose from the table first and cleared away her dishes. McCree followed several steps behind, giving himself some time to watch every movement Mercy made as she walked from the dish cart to the door, along the hall, down a few flights of stairs and finally to the medical personnel quarters that McCree had such fond memories of from long ago.

Mercy’s own room was one of the furthest from the stairs that led to its hall and once she got to the bottom of the flight, she looked back with a giggle and broke into a run. McCree caught on immediately, giving chase at an even speed that kept the distance between them until they finally reached her door. Mercy threw it open and then slammed it closed once they were both inside, nearly knocking McCree off his feet when she leaped up to grab him by the back of his head for a much deeper, more heated kiss. He hummed into it, matching her fervor as he wrapped his arms around her to keep her there. Mercy slid her fingers through his hair, massaging at his scalp at first, but in an instant she had grabbed a fistful of it and yanked his head back harshly. McCree cried out, but the pain died down substantially as Mercy trailed a line of nibbling kisses down his newly-exposed neck, leaning against his body just so to press her leg against his groin.

“Angie,” he sighed, eyes closed against this intense and delicious combination of feeling. Mercy hummed in reply, laughing some more through her nose as she reached his shirt collar. She let go of McCree’s hair, freeing her hand to work loose the top few buttons of his shirt. As she started in on giving his collarbone and the edge of his chest the same treatment as his neck, McCree pulled her in closer as he started moving them toward her bed at the center of the room. Shifting his arms up, he set her down over the foot of the bed lying back and looking up at him. They took a moment to breathe, staring into each other’s eyes, before McCree spoke. “My turn now.” Immediately he was on Mercy’s neck, giving her even harsher kisses than she’d given him. Mercy squealed at the sensation, squirming under it, and fought to get words out.

“Jesse!” she cried through her noises. “Your…your beard! It tickles!” McCree chuckled against her skin, rubbing his jaw along the side of her neck. Mercy let out another shrill, giggling cry and squirmed harder, reaching a wobbling hand up to nudge him away. “Stop it! _Hu-_ …s-stoooop!”

“Alright, alright.” McCree let up, framing her shoulders with his hands as he rose up above her. Mercy gasped for air, her eyes and mouth wide open, and when she got control again she gave him an unexpectedly cross look. “What?”

“You didn’t have nearly so much hair the last time we did this,” said Mercy, reaching to his face with one finger and ghosting it over his beard. “It’s quite a lot to get used to.”  
“Maybe,” said McCree, tilting his head to give her a better angle, “but I got confidence in you, Angie. I know you can do it.” He moved his jawline harder against her hand and Mercy obliged, scratching under his chin and along the edges of his face. “Mmmmmm,” he hummed. “And I ain’t shaving it off. Took me too long to grow it out like this. Besides, it makes me look good.”

“Yes it does,” said Mercy with an especially devious smile. Without warning she put her hand behind his head and pulled him down into another searing, passionate kiss. McCree started, but got into the feel of it soon enough and began to lower himself down on top of her on the bed. She grunted and squirmed again as he rested his weight against her and for a second he had no idea what the problem might be until he remembered his belt buckle.

“Shit,” he groaned as he broke their kiss and shifted to one side, hastily undoing his belt and slipping it off. He let it drop to the floor with a loud thunk and looked back up at Mercy. “I’m sorry. Don’t know what I was thinking, leaving that thing on.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Mercy, placing her hand against his cheek. “Just come back to me.” McCree rolled back over onto his stomach, shifting his body at an angle so as not to crush Mercy underneath him. They picked up the kiss from right where they had left off, tongues meeting before their lips could close around each other’s. Balancing himself with his left arm, McCree snuck his right hand down to the hem of Mercy’s sweater and slipped his fingers underneath. Mercy hummed against his mouth when his callused fingertips made contact with her skin, shifting herself into his touch as she ran her hands along his shoulders and back. Smiling as best he could without breaking their kiss, McCree reached further in, sliding her clothes away from her midsection on his way up to her chest. The top under her sweater, it turned out, was a camisole with a built-in bra that his fingers caught against. Instead of going underneath it, he ran his thumb over her breast through the thin cloth, coaxing tiny sounds from Mercy as their kiss finally broke again of its own volition.

“We should…” McCree began, but Mercy cut him off.

“I know,” she said. “And I’m already prepared.” She scooted up the bed and away from him toward the night table, sliding open a drawer and pulling out a small, shiny packet. “I took the liberty of going into town to buy these after lunch,” said Mercy. “Thin and with lubricant already on them. It’s supposed to do something to enhance the experience.”

“Is it, now?” McCree leaned his face against the heel of his right hand, legs dangling off the foot of the bed. “Personally I didn’t think anything could improve on the kind of experience I’ve got to offer, but what the hell. Let’s give it a try.” That got another chortle out of Mercy and he grinned. “But seriously, I’m glad you did that. It’s kinda tough for me to run basic errands these days, on account of being a wanted man.”

“I assumed as much,” said Mercy, setting the condom packet aside on the table and shutting the drawer. As she sat up, she pulled the tie out of her hair and let it all drop down over her shoulders. “And before you say anything about it, you don’t owe me anything.” She paused, tilting her head sideways and smirking. “Well, you don’t owe me anything apart from the obvious, of course.”

“Of course,” McCree echoed, returning her smirk as he hoisted himself up onto his hands and knees. He crawled across the bed to the edge Mercy sat on, swinging his legs around to set his feet on the floor next to hers. They looked at each other and were still for one brief second before they each turned away and started undressing. Mercy pulled her sweater up and over her head, wiggling herself free of the sleeves as McCree pulled off his boots and let those drop just like his belt. Mercy kicked off her own shoes and unzipped her slacks, slipping them off to land in a heap beside her sweater. McCree sighed in relief as he unzipped the fly of his jeans; he’d been feeling his heartbeat creeping steadily southward even before Mercy’s little tease and, while his boxers were still restrictive, they didn’t present nearly as uncomfortable a problem as his jeans had. Mercy caught on to his situation once he had his shirt off, color rising high in her face as she stared at him with laser focus. She was down to just her own underwear, too, the camisole and a pair of bikini briefs. When McCree looked over toward her he could see the muscles shifting in her arms and legs as she approached him. He’d always known her to work hard at maintaining herself, too, waking up at ridiculous hours to run laps around different parts of the Watchpoints or go for a swim whenever she was stationed where that was safe. Clearly nothing had changed for Mercy in that regard and McCree found himself to be equal parts glad and envious.

Now Mercy’s leg was flush with his and she twisted to the side toward him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He turned to meet her and leaned in for another kiss, softer and slower this time. Mercy turned herself toward him even more, sliding her legs up and onto the bed to give herself a slight boost. McCree leaned his head back to follow her as she rested her body against his and brought her other hand to his chest. She dragged her fingers down slowly, running them along his skin, and McCree could feel calluses on her hands that hadn’t been there before. It added something new to this feeling as she slid her hand over his belly to the waistband of his boxers. Surprisingly she didn’t move it aside, though, and McCree backed ever so slightly out of the kiss in confusion. Instead, Mercy moved down over the top of the fabric, gently resting her fingers against him. The contact added to his growing arousal, but barely. He made a soft noise against Mercy’s lips, prompting her, and she gave him a fuller stroke, but still through the fabric of his boxers and very short-lived.

“Angie,” he mumbled against her bottom lip, “what’re you doing?”

“Savoring this,” said Mercy, putting about an inch of distance between her face and his. “Why? Are you in a hurry?”

“No,” said McCree, his hips twitching as Mercy gave him a more pronounced stroke, “but I do think you could speed things up just a bit. If you’re worried about it being over too quick, I can-” Mercy stroked him through the fabric again and he bucked into her hand with a moan. “I can promise you it won’t. I won’t let that happen.”

“Oh?” Mercy took her hand away, leaving McCree with an aching feeling that nagged at his mind. “Such an ambitious promise. Do you really think you can do it?”

“Yes,” said McCree, opening his eyes wider to look into hers again. “I _know_ I can.”

“Really?” Mercy was giving him the most devious look he’d ever seen on her. “Are you sure? I would hate to see a man like you break his word.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Angie,” said McCree, a thin thread of ire slipping into his voice. “You know that.”

“Mm,” Mercy hummed, “true, but there are many variables involved here. Can you account for all of them?”

“ _Yes,_ ” McCree hissed, his tone somewhere between husky and aggravated. “Yes I can.”

“Well, then,” said Mercy with an impish giggle, “show me.” Like a switch had been flipped, her touch turned harsher and more desperate. She pushed beneath McCree’s waistband, sliding his boxers far enough down his hips to free his erection and giving it more substantial underhanded strokes. McCree let his head drop back as he moaned, tilting his body along with it to give Mercy better access. He bucked into her fingers again as she brought him to full hardness, eyes pinching shut as the sensation grew more intense. Mercy quickened her movements up and down his length and gave the tip a rub with her thumb that made his toes curl.

“Oh, Angie,” McCree said through his heavy breaths. “Do that again.” Mercy obliged and McCree lost his balance, flopping backward against the bed with an inarticulate cry. “Oh _damn,_ is it good to be back!” He managed to open his eyes a crack to look in Mercy’s direction and in spite of the onslaught of feeling he was in the middle of, a thought still managed to occur to him. “Wait, stop. Stop, stop, stop.”

“Ah!” Mercy yanked her hand away with shocking speed. “What’s wrong? Did something hurt?”

“Oh, no,” said McCree, a lazy smile on his face as he took the time to breathe. “You’re doing a beautiful job, trust me. It’s just that I ain’t about to sit by without seeing you get the same care in return.”

“Ah, I see,” said Mercy, the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. “So, what are you going to do about that?” Even without the contact, McCree felt his erection twitch at the mere sight of her like this. He locked eyes with her and licked his lips very deliberately, beckoning with his metal fingers.

“C’mere.”

“No!” cried Mercy with a giggle, visibly curling in on herself.

“No?” McCree sat himself up partially, raising an eyebrow at her in sheer bafflement. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Mercy uncurled to point at his beard with a gesture that might have been accusing were she not grinning behind her other hand. “Not with _that_ all over your face.”

“What?” McCree lifted his right hand to stroke his beard. “Really? I think this is the opposite of a problem.” He smirked. “I’ve been told it only adds to the sensation.”

“And who told you that?” asked Mercy, a quality in her voice that McCree couldn’t hang a name on, but that worried him all the same.

“That…ain’t important right now.” He turned his head sideways, a blush rising on his own face, too. “If you don’t wanna do it that way, that’s fine. I’ve got other tricks up my sleeve for you.” McCree pulled himself part of the way back up on his elbows, the left jabbing into the covers awkwardly. In his many years with the prosthesis he’d learned how to work around it in the bedroom, but never with Mercy. As irrational as he knew it was, he felt a jarring twinge of fear about how she might react to feeling the metal against her skin. His face twitched as he forced the thought from his mind, inching his body closer to Mercy to roll sideways and reach his fingers toward her legs. He caught her by the knee at first and she relaxed into his touch, parting her thighs so that he might drag the tips of his first two fingers along the soft inner stretch of skin. “Maybe you’d be more open to me using my hands?”

“Mm, perfect,” Mercy replied, resting her chin in her palm and letting her finger bump up against her lips. There was something about that image that shot straight below the belt and McCree hesitated a moment to revel in the feeling before he sat up taller and withdrew to set both hands down in the space between him and Mercy.

“Get over here,” he purred, tapping the spot where his hands rested. Mercy needed no further encouragement. She was laid out in front of him in the next second, reaching down to take off her panties. McCree rested one hand over hers, gently coaxing it away as he took over that job for her and caught a brief glimpse of the wetness darkening the outside of the fabric as he pulled it away from her body and tossed it aside. Underneath she was already dripping and he very nearly muttered a curse under his breath in dismay that she wouldn’t let him put his mouth on her this time. Even so, he licked his lips again as he rested the fingertips of his right hand against her inner thigh. “Wow.”

“You’re surprised?” Mercy was grinning smugly at him.

“No,” said McCree, briefly glancing back up toward her face, “not surprised. Impressed.” He dragged his fingers down Mercy’s thigh, relishing the little shiver it drew from her, and gave her folds a soft, almost experimental touch with the pad of his thumb. Her breath hitched and he could feel his erection twitch again as he watched her staring up at him, waiting. Perhaps she’d had a point earlier about savoring this moment. Looking at her face now and watching desperation creep into her expression, he’d bet money that she regretted ever mentioning that. Of course, he had been the one to suggest reciprocation, he thought, so it was only right for him to make good on it now. Scooting an inch closer on the bed, McCree moved his thumb from her folds to the little tip of her clit as it started to peek out from under its hood.

“Aah,” Mercy moaned, her back arching ever so slightly off the bed for a split second and then dropping back as she had been. McCree could see the muscles of her slick entrance contract around nothing at his touch and he felt the need to fill that void. He slid his fingers around her, coating them down in her own wetness, and watched as she closed her eyes and sighed at the feeling. “Jesse,” she said, almost at a whisper, “what’s taking so long?”

“Oh, well look who’s in a hurry now,” said McCree, giving her clit another gentle flick with the tip of his thumb and feeling his own pulse quicken at the sound of her sharp inhale. “Don’t you worry. I’m on it. You just sit back and enjoy yourself.” Mercy hummed up at him, opening her eyes just enough to give him the most alluring half-lidded look he’d seen anywhere in what must have been years. He swallowed hard as he felt another jump down below and promptly got back to work. She was already wide open for him, so slipping one finger inside was easy. Mercy was practically purring at the sensation as he dragged his calloused finger along her walls, touching around and across her clit with his thumb at the same time. She moaned again when he curled the finger inside her, back starting to arch again, and he added another effortlessly.

“Jesse!” she cried up at the ceiling, hands gripping the bedclothes at either side of her and toes kneading the spots where she’d planted her feet on the bed. McCree could hear his own breathing as he watched her, paying particular attention to the sight of his fingers disappearing and reappearing from inside her. He gave them another curl at their deepest, paired with a few more rubs with his thumb, and Mercy writhed under his touch. He couldn’t help but make a sound of his own at that, leaning closer to her as she stilled again. Her head rested on her pillows, propped up high enough that if McCree scooted forward just a bit, taking care not to pull his fingers out all the way, he could lean in for more kisses. Mercy’s hands immediately flew to him, her fingers dragging along his back and through his hair as he kept up his movements. She kissed him back fiercely as he curled his fingers within her again, moaning into his mouth, and his hips snapped up into nothing hard enough to shake the mattress.

“Mmph, hey Angie,” McCree mumbled against Mercy’s lips, pausing between words for kisses, “I think…mmm...it’s high time we…mmph-mmm…really got down to business.” He gave her one last deep kiss and broke it slowly, teeth tugging at her lower lip. “Just one at a time ain’t working.”

“Yes,” said Mercy, her legs wobbling a little as she sat herself up taller and reached to the side table to pick up the wrapped condom. “Please.” McCree couldn’t help but chuckle at that, his laughter a little too high-pitched for his taste. He covered his nose and mouth with his prosthesis and cleared his throat to get control. He removed his fingers from Mercy perhaps too inelegantly and she squirmed as he did it. He didn’t say a word, but he looked into her eyes apologetically and she gave him a half-smile in answer. It was enough reassurance for him and he smiled back, lifting his head up higher.

Mercy turned away to open the package and McCree raised his right hand to his face, waiting until she glanced his way to pointedly stick his soaked fingers into his mouth and lick them clean. A raspy sigh escaped her as she froze in place, transfixed as he drew them back out without breaking their eye contact. He gave the end of his thumb the lightest of licks and let his hand drop, wiggling the rest of the way out of his boxers while Mercy snapped back into reality and got the condom out of its wrapping. McCree closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the flavor on his tongue, and smiled to himself as he leaned back on his hands. He could feel the mattress shifting as Mercy inched toward him and he opened one eye in her direction. She had the condom out and was extending a hand to touch his shoulder and get his attention. He opened the other eye and let his smile turn lazy and almost smug, gesturing down at his erection like he was giving her an invitation. Mercy chuckled and shook her head, setting the rolled-up condom on the very tip. McCree took hold of the pointed end part, keeping it in place as Mercy began to unfurl the rest of it over him. As she slid the condom down she teased him with her other hand, drawing little sounds from deep in his throat.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he grunted, feeling his chest heave up and down under the feeling. Without warning he bucked his hips up into Mercy’s hand and she pressed down hard on his hip.

“Don’t move,” she scolded, ceasing her teases to finish unrolling the condom.

“Yes, ma’am,” said McCree, watching with rapt attention as Mercy stood and walked in front of him. She looked him up and down once, finger on her lips again, before closing the distance between them and starting to climb into his lap. She rested one knee on the bed beside him, a hand on his shoulder for balance, and McCree reached out to pick at the hem of her camisole. Setting his hand on her hip, he looked up at her with a question in his eyes and Mercy nodded, giving him the permission he was after. As she raised her arms over her head, shifting her weight back to the one foot she still had on the floor, McCree lifted the camisole off of her and finally laid eyes on all of her body at once.

“Oh that ain’t fair,” he whined, letting his right hand rest on her perfectly-toned midsection. “That ain’t fair at all.” Almost nothing about Mercy’s physique had changed since the last time he had seen her naked. She looked better, in fact, all muscle and perfect skin.

“What do you mean?” she asked, stifling a giggle.

“If I look the way I look now because I’m getting older,” said McCree, “then how come it ain’t happening to you? There’s what, five months between us?”

Mercy let her giggle out this time. “Oh Jesse, you flatter me.” She leaned in close and touched her finger to the end of his nose.

“It’s true, though,” said McCree, brushing her hand away. “You’re still as beautiful as you always were, but me?” He gestured along his body with one hand. “C’mon.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mercy, following his hand with her eyes, “You certainly look _different._ There’s no denying that. But do you look bad?” She ran her other hand down his body again, stopping at his belly to rub at the trail of hair there with her thumb. “No. Not at all.” She moved forward again, bringing both knees up onto the bed and glancing down to align herself. As she moved into position she slid her lower hand to his side, giving the flesh there a pointed squeeze.

“Hey,” he said, playfully squirming under it. She started to lower herself and McCree rushed to hold himself steady for her, fighting the urge to buck as she got ever closer. Mercy’s eyes closed and her brow furrowed in concentration as she sank, her heat enveloping him slowly and gradually. McCree was already groaning with bliss when she was halfway down, moving his hand out of the way as seconds stretched into centuries and everything else fell away in the face of this feeling. When she stopped, Mercy sat very still and visibly concentrated, her walls surrounding him and squeezing him in a rhythm that reduced his breaths to panting. “Angie.”

“Jesse,” she answered, breathing as hard as he was and still with her eyes closed. She raised herself up halfway with a soft sound, held perfectly still for a moment and then dropped back down all at once, both of them moaning in unison. McCree leaped into action, grabbing her hips with both hands and encouraging her to move up and down again. It was a split second later before he realized he was touching her with his left hand.

“Ah, wait,” he managed to say as Mercy was in the middle of another wind-up. “Is…is this okay?” He wiggled the fingers of his left hand against her. “Does it…ah…feel weird?”

“No,” said Mercy plainly, shifting her balance to move her hand on top of his. “A little cold, but it doesn’t bother me.”

“And you ain’t …aah…” McCree couldn’t help but buck this time, hearing Mercy’s breath hitch as he suddenly thrust up into her. “You ain’t just saying that?”

“Of course not,” said Mercy, eyes open and staring down at him. “Have I ever been one to hide how I truly feel?”

McCree chuckled, smiling up at her. “No. Never.” He squeezed her hips with both hands, coaxing her back down onto him, and when she stopped just short of the goal, he thrust upward again.

“Ooh, Jesse,” she moaned, her neck and shoulders going loose. “Again.”

“Mmm,” McCree hummed, lying back on the bed without letting go. “Always happy to oblige.” Mercy braced her arms on either side of him and held her position, waiting for him to set the pace before she started meeting him halfway in his thrusts. As they fell into a quick and steady rhythm, McCree took his right hand off her hip and let it migrate northward, cupping her breast and dragging his thumb over her nipple. Mercy shivered and moaned, earning herself a harsh yank downward back into McCree’s lap.

“Aah!” She stilled herself for a moment, biting her lip as she evened out her breathing. McCree didn’t dare move, even going so far as to freeze the hand he had on her breast in place.

“Too much?”

“No,” said Mercy. “I just wasn’t expecting that, but now?” She rose up again, clenching tightly around McCree’s length and drawing strangled cries out of him before slamming herself back down hard. McCree practically howled, his back arching off the bed and squashing his head down into the covers. Mercy waited until he’d caught his breath before she spoke again. “Now I’m prepared.”

“Oh, Angie,” McCree sighed, “I have missed you something fierce.” Mercy giggled, raising herself up just enough for him to resume his harsh thrusts. McCree let his hands roam, squeezing her breasts with flesh hand and prosthesis alike until she threw her head back and squealed. From there he moved down her midsection, caressing her abs with just the right hand. While his prosthesis could sense heat and pressure, the subtleties of warmth and texture were only accessible to his organic parts. With his right fingers he could feel the definition of Mercy’s muscles, feel them contract whenever a wave of pleasure rippled through her, feel the thin coating of sweat that gleamed on her skin and gave her an almost divine glow.

They were both getting noisy now, McCree shifting his leg to brace himself better and give him more power to push himself up into Mercy. Mercy was breathing heavily through her mouth, eyes half-lidded as she rode on top of McCree. It was a fabulous sight to behold, but McCree fought the growing urge to lose himself and come as quickly as possible. He had a promise to keep, after all. Instead his hands continued to migrate down her body, his left coming to rest on her hip once more and his right reaching down toward the point where their bodies met and their hair intermingled.

“Ah-aaah!” Mercy threw her head back again as McCree’s thumb found her clit once more. “Jesse… _Jesse!_ ” McCree moaned in response, trying to hold his focus on her. She was squeezing him harder and faster and he knew she was close. Her hands moved up from the bed to his sides, gripping the flesh above his hips just a little too tightly as she bent forward, leaning into the touch of his thumb.

“That’s it, Angie,” McCree breathed, moving his hips less and his hand more. “C’mon. That’s it, c’mon.” Finally Mercy hit her climax under his touch, loosing a low moan from deep in her chest and digging her fingers into his skin. It ended almost as soon as it began and she started to catch her breath, the look of disappointment unmistakable in her eyes. McCree held himself very still, letting his hands drop away from her and grunting as she unwound hers from his hips. “That’s quite the grip you’ve got,” he said as he steadied his own breathing.

“Did that hurt?” Mercy asked, looking down at the redness she’d left behind on his skin.

“Well,” said McCree, taking a pause to breathe, “I’d be lying if I said no, but it wasn’t _too_ bad.” He lifted his head to look along his body at the spots she’d grabbed and he chuckled. “Guess they don’t call ‘em ‘love handles’ for nothing.” Mercy laughed and raised herself up and off of him, crawling along the bed to put them face-to-face. She touched her forehead to his and smiled, one hand combing through his hair, and McCree closed his eyes and smiled back.

“Angie, what’re you doing?” he said. “We’re not done.”

“No,” said Mercy, “not by far, but perhaps we could use a break.”

“What?” McCree opened his eyes. “Now I don’t mean to be rude, but what gives you that idea?” Mercy moved her forehead away, looking down at him.

“Well on the one hand, we don’t want to overexert ourselves,” she said. “On the other?” She leaned back in and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Maybe I just want to kiss you some more.”

“Yeah,” said McCree with a lopsided smile, “I can agree with that.” Mercy laughed through her nose as she let her body rest against his. As they kissed again, parting their lips for each other, McCree wrapped both of his arms around Mercy and let his right hand rove along her back. Mercy purred into their kiss and he took it as encouragement, sliding down further until he reached her bottom. He gave her a gentle squeeze and she squeaked, moving back into his hand. As he kneaded at that spot, humming against Mercy’s lips, she broke the kiss so suddenly that he started.

“Maybe this break can end sooner rather than later?” she asked.

“Whatever you say, Angie,” McCree answered with a devious grin. “How about this time we change things up a little?”

“Oh,” said Mercy, bright light in her eyes, “what do you have in mind?”

McCree’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his grin growing. “Now that’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“I see,” said Mercy, glancing away as her body seemed to sink in on itself on top of him. “Not even one little hint?”

“I ain’t ruining the surprise,” said McCree, lifting his head up toward her. “I reckon you’ll love it, though.” Mercy gave him a doubtful look with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, though it was clearly laced with anticipation. McCree hadn’t once stopped grinning, teeth almost shining in the fluorescent light of the bedroom, and he gently laid his left hand on the back of Mercy’s head to let her know he was moving in for one more kiss. What started out slow turned deep and passionate very quickly, McCree moaning out loud against the sensation of Mercy’s lips and tongue together against his. When they broke it he was breathing hard again. “Alright, you best get ready, ‘cause you’re in for one hell of a ride.” He sat them both up in one motion, his left hand curled around the small of Mercy’s back as he reached down with his right to run the tips of his fingers along the very edges of her entrance again.

“Jesse, what is this?” asked Mercy, her chest heaving up and down in front of his face. She set her hands loosely on his shoulder and the back of his neck, leaning into the support of his prosthesis.

“Just making sure you’re ready,” said McCree without looking up. “I’d hate for this to go wrong.” She was still fantastically wet and open under his fingers, but her breasts presented too enticing a target for him to ignore and he pulled her closer to latch his mouth onto one of them.

“Aaahn,” moaned Mercy, wrapping her arms tighter around his head and the back of his neck as he ran his tongue over her nipple. McCree purred against her skin, shifting his prosthetic hand down at an angle to give her bottom another gentle squeeze as he continued his work with his tongue. He could feel her give a sharp and strong twitch under his fingertips, her breath coming out in loud, quick huffs, and he smirked against her before he broke away from her breast with an audible pop.

“Hold on,” he breathed, the sound of his voice raw and rough. Mercy scrambled to bind her hands and arms securely around his shoulders, meeting his eye half-lidded and flushed. McCree lifted his right hand to set it firmly against her upper back, pausing for only an instant to assure himself that he was holding Mercy well enough not to drop her before rising from the bed with her leaning back into his arms. He crossed to the closest wall so fluidly that he barely felt himself take the steps, switching arms underneath her to hold her up with his right and plant his left hand against the wall as he put her shoulders up against it and slid himself back inside her in one perfect move.

“Ahh, Jesse!” cried Mercy, wrapping her legs around his hips in a tight web. McCree only grunted in reply, amazed at himself. He’d been very lucky to land right on target like he had, but he wasn’t about to let that information slip. He took a moment to stand still and feel Mercy’s arms around his shoulders and her legs vibrating around him before he started to move, slower than they’d gone before, but much harsher. Mercy moaned out loud with each thrust, holding him tighter and arching off the wall to meet him.

“Ngh…careful,” McCree huffed between hard breaths. “Don’t…wanna drop you.” Mercy made a soft sound in answer and pulled her body inward, drawing back from him. McCree didn’t change his pace, taking a half-step forward to stay close and locking eyes with her as he did it. They both wore the same expression, lips parted and eyes halfway closed over blown pupils. They both smiled as they realized this at the same time, Mercy almost laughing through her gentle moans. McCree managed a chuckle and leaned his head in closer, planting a kiss on the nape of her neck. Mercy squirmed for a second before she fought to rein it in, the sound of her breaths quickening with the effort.

“S-still tickles,” she managed to say. McCree’s face fell and he looked off to the side, but Mercy unwound an arm from around his shoulders and brought his eyes back to her with a hand against his jawline. “No…Jesse, I…aaah…it’s…it’s a lot, but…but I like it.” She gave the hair under her thumb a rub, grinning at the scratching noise it made, and McCree was convinced.

“Keep…holding on tight,” he said, smirking as he leaned back in. Mercy released his face to slide her fingers through his hair again and McCree hummed against her neck as he felt her curl them between the locks. He pressed another gentle kiss to the spot just below her jaw under her left ear, trailing down from there, and Mercy’s fingers twitched against his scalp as she made a noise halfway between another moan and a sigh. This wasn’t enough, McCree thought, and he lifted his head back up to kiss at the top of her neck just under her chin. This time Mercy squirmed again, clutching at his hair, and McCree pulled back to flick his tongue over his lips before plunging into an onslaught, sucking on her skin in the same spot to start another line of much stickier kisses.

“Jesse!” Mercy cried through the giggles that bubbled out of her as he crossed to the opposite side of her neck and continued his trail back up. She had a much stronger grip on his hair now and he groaned as she tightened it, pulling her body in with his hand underneath her to change the angle of his thrusts. That must have put him in a position to hit something more sensitive because Mercy practically screamed as he pushed back in, her limbs coiling even tighter around him and her internal muscles surging. “ _Jesse!_ Ahh, yes! _Gen-_ …There! Right there!” He was starting to feel short of breath, but McCree picked up his pace. Mercy’s hand in his hair tensed and released with each thrust and the closer he knew she was getting to her climax, the closer he got to his. Her orgasm this time wouldn’t be like the tiny disappointment from before. He would make absolute sure.

“Angie…ngh! Angie, c’mon.” McCree tried to focus his attention entirely on that one spot and, as much as he felt like he was reaching out into the dark, it was working. Mercy was still getting closer, but he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out himself. He could feel the tension mounting, winding up down below, and he grit his teeth with the effort of holding back. Mercy had to come first. It was a personal rule McCree had made for himself years ago and he’d abide by it for as long as he feasibly could. “Oh, that’s it. Almost there.” He leaned his face in close by her ear, unclenching his jaw and lowering his voice to a husky whisper. “Come for me. Ngh, c’mon.” Mercy moaned again, but she still wasn’t quite there. “Oh, that’s it, Angie. Just a little…aah…”

“I…Jesse, I need…” Mercy started to wiggle an arm away from around McCree’s shoulders, holding tighter with the other. McCree backed his head away from hers to watch as she reached down toward her own clit. “Here.”

“I got it, Angie,” he said all at once, pausing in his rhythm long enough to switch arms underneath her. Now his prosthesis provided Mercy’s support while his right hand was freed to move about and he moved it right underneath hers. Leaning back in toward her, he murmured in her ear again with another smirk on his face. “You might wanna hold on tight again.” He gave her clit a light flick with his thumb and Mercy let out a high-pitched noise with her mouth wide open, throwing her arm back around him.

“Please, Jesse,” she said, meeting his eye. “Please. _Please._ ”

“Of course,” said McCree, pulling back to show her his smirk just before he threw himself into his harsh rhythm all over again. This time he paired his thrusts with alternating massages on and around the head of her clit and he could feel the results building fast. Mercy’s cries grew in volume and pitch and the twitches of her inner muscles grew in strength until finally she pinched her eyes shut and shouted out a long string of words in German that McCree couldn’t separate out in his mind just before she fell over the edge into her climax. His head snapped backward with the force of her hand yanking at his hair and her arms and legs squeezed around his body as she came, shrieking to the ceiling.

“ _Jesseeeeeee!_ ”

“Oh! Oh, Angie,” McCree huffed, his own eyes shut tight against the feeling of her orgasm around him. “Oh, fuck.” He left his thumb gently teasing at her clit as she rode it out, her aftershocks pushing him ever closer to release. Mercy released her fingers in his hair and he straightened himself back up, planting his feet to put even more energy into his last few thrusts. Each was deliberate and punctuated by a sound. “Aah…fuck…guh- _aah_ …oh…Angie… _Angie!_ ” At long last he fell apart, trying to shout Mercy’s name one last time, but it disintegrated into a mass of inarticulate and strangled noise that turned into something like a growl. Everything tensed up and unwound at the same time, searing pleasure rolling through him and overwhelming his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long the feeling really lasted, but his throat felt terribly raw by the time he finally quieted and started to catch his breath.

His legs wobbled underneath him and McCree clung tighter to Mercy in his arms as he steadied himself before pulling out carefully and carrying her back to the bed. She was still wrapped around him just as tightly and he sat down on the edge of the bed before twisting to the side to set her down against the pillows, uncurling himself with surprising effort. The sheets felt chilly against his skin and he shivered, only now becoming aware of just how soaked with sweat he was. He and Mercy were breathing hard, both rolling onto their backs to calm down. They were silent for a moment, chests heaving up and down one after the other, until McCree managed one single syllable: “Wow.”

“Oh, yes,” answered Mercy, lifting her head up to look at him. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed that until now.” She sighed and giggled, trying to sit herself up higher with her shaking legs. “It only gets better with time.”

“Yeah,” said McCree, propping his head up on one hand. “Same thing goes for you, too. I thought I’d had your best before, but tonight?” He turned onto his side to better face her and made a show of rolling his eyes up into their lids. “Oh, _mercy me._ ” To his immense satisfaction, Mercy cracked up in an unseemly sputter and laughed out loud a few times before she reached out and jammed her open palm into his face. “Mmph! Hey!” he protested, wiggling free and pushing up off the bed in spite of how weak his arms felt now. Mercy was scooting away from him toward her edge of the bed, but not by any means fast enough to actually outrun him. With one single lurching dive in her direction he had her pinned to the sheets and feigning a struggle under his grasp. As he held her there he remembered the condom and jumped back up to hustle to his own side of the bed, getting it off and tying it up to drop into the little garbage can by the night table. “Whoops,” he said with a weak chuckle, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Now where were we?” He turned around and threw himself back on top of Mercy, who squeaked and giggled as he landed. McCree moved down to trail light kisses up from her shoulder to her neck and she reached up and backward to run her fingers through his hair.

“Mmm, Jesse,” she hummed, rolling over to face him and giving him a kiss on the lips. As they parted they caught each other’s eye again and smiled. McCree blinked his eyes once, their lids suddenly heavy and hard to lift, and looked away from Mercy with a quiet sigh.

“I’m fading fast, Angie,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes open. “I’m afraid the night’s already over. Wish it didn’t have to end so soon.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” said Mercy, a sleepy quality in her own voice as she snuggled up to him. “Tonight was perfect. I already said so in the moment.”

“Is that what you were saying?” asked McCree, his eyelids shut and looking to stay that way. “You’re gonna have to teach me German sometime.” He chuckled. “And I’m gonna have to make myself sit still for it.”

Mercy laughed with him. “Maybe. What I said was that what you were doing was perfect. That you are perfect. And you are.” She ended the sentence with a yawn and shimmied down along the bed to rest her head against McCree’s chest as he listed backward. “Mm, you certainly make a much better pillow than you used to.” To reinforce her point she wrapped her arms around his middle and gave him a firm hug.

“Thanks, if that’s supposed to be a compliment,” said McCree, resting his arms loosely on top of her. Mercy only hummed against him in reply, her body going very still, and McCree let the pull of sleep start to overtake him. “G’night, Angie,” he mumbled, the words almost unintelligible as he drifted off.

* * * *

McCree awoke with a snort early the next morning to the sound of an alarm clock screaming in his ear. Mercy stirred and groaned in his arms, lifting her head up with her eyes still shut. She tried to reach over him toward the noise, but didn’t quite make it. Instead she pushed her hand against McCree’s shoulder and he protested with a whine.

“Move,” Mercy commanded. “I have to shut that off and you’re in the way.” With another grunt, McCree sat himself up sloppily with his head hanging forward and Mercy stretched to the night table to shut off the alarm. As soon as the noise stopped they heaved a sigh in unison, McCree settling back down into his pillow. “I’m sorry for that,” said Mercy, flopping back down onto her side of the bed. “I forgot to turn that off yesterday.”

“You’re still getting up that early for your workout?” asked McCree. “Shit.”

“Not today, though,” said Mercy, rolling onto her side to face him. “Today I need to rest.”

“Mmm,” McCree hummed in agreement, lying still a moment longer before rolling toward Mercy and flopping down on top of her. She squeaked and giggled, cozying up against him at first, but it wasn’t long before she struggled against his weight.

“Let me go,” she mumbled against his shoulder. McCree opened one eye with a questioning hum. “I need to use the toilet.” Slowly and reluctantly he pulled himself away and Mercy lifted her head, rubbing at her eyes. As she sat up, her brow creasing in concentration, she stretched her arms up over her head and McCree swore he heard more than a few of her joints pop as she moved. He could see her wince as she got to her feet, rubbing at the base of her back as she stretched her legs.

“If any of that’s my fault,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” said Mercy, her voice strained. “This is how I am all the time.” She relaxed, releasing a breath she’d been holding, and took a few steps before she grimaced. “Ooh,” she groaned. “Alright, _that_ is your fault.” McCree flashed her a devious grin and Mercy smirked back at him before she walked out of sight into her tiny bathroom, wobbling a little the whole way over.

McCree yawned, but when he reopened his eyes and rubbed the sleep from them he felt disinclined to close them again. He sat up with a wince of his own and stretched his arms; he was awake now whether he wanted to be or not. Leaning his neck to one side and clenching his jaw as he felt it crack, he felt some measure of relief at the idea that, after everything about Mercy that had stayed so perfectly youthful, she was feeling just the same as he was after all. It was a terrible thought, he told himself, but it calmed him all the same. It wasn’t only him who needed more time to recover than he used to. Somehow, knowing that he wasn’t alone in his situation made him feel a little better about it. He was smiling to himself when Mercy finally stepped into view to wash her hands and emerged from the bathroom, walking back to the bed much more steadily.

“Well don’t you look so much better this morning,” she said as she sat down by his feet, her legs still hanging off the edge of the mattress. “How do you feel?”

“Still kinda stiff,” McCree confessed, “but other than that I feel about as fantastic as you look.” Mercy laughed out loud, blushing just enough for him to see. Once she’d caught her breath again she climbed all the way up onto the bed and crawled on hands and knees back up to the pillow beside him.

“You flatter me,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “Or so I assume, at least.”

“You assume just right,” said McCree, reaching out to rest his right hand over the one Mercy was propping herself up with against the bed. Mercy leaned forward and cupped his jaw in her other hand to tilt his head closer to hers. The kiss she planted on his lips was tender and affectionate and neither one of them made any effort to deepen it. Instead they broke it only to kiss two more times in just the same way before Mercy pulled back the covers to slip underneath them.

“It’s…” She was cut off by a soft yawn as she lay back down. “It’s still too early to do anything. I just want to go back to sleep.”

“Says the woman whose alarm woke us up,” said McCree, sliding himself under the bedclothes with her. “Can’t argue with that, though.” He still felt particularly awake, but when he rested his left arm around Mercy and she put her head against his chest again, he knew it wouldn’t be hard to relax again. Not long after that he was blinking his eyes back open from a spell of unconsciousness, reawakened by the same need Mercy had felt earlier. She was out cold and entangled firmly around him, but McCree managed to wiggle himself free of her grasp without waking her and hurried into the bathroom. He relieved himself quickly, started toward the sink and paused mid-step to do an about-face turn back to the toilet and lower the seat back down without a sound.

As McCree was shutting off the sink after washing his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror. It was the same as it had been two days ago when he’d first resolved to work his way back to the way he’d looked before, but now as he examined himself in the mirror, standing up straighter and with a smile on his face, he didn’t think he looked half bad. Different, certainly; Mercy had been right about that. He took a moment to look himself over more thoroughly, his attention spreading out from the flaws he’d perceived previously. He still had broad, strong shoulders with the muscles all down his arms to match, his prosthesis in perfect proportion to the rest of his body. His chest did look cushier than it once had under the swath of dark hair across it, but no less toned. When he stood up with his hands resting on his hips, all the chub he’d hated just days ago looked perfectly placed on his body, perhaps even complimentary. He could get used to looking like this, McCree thought, as long as he didn’t actually let himself get lazy. A chuckle bubbled up in him and he struck a pose in the mirror, pointing little finger-guns at his reflection with a wink and a grin. In the next second he jumped as delighted laughter erupted from behind him.

“Oh, Jesse,” said Mercy from the bed, her head leaning on one hand with her elbow against the pillow. “I told you that you still looked good.” McCree turned around with redness high in his cheeks and Mercy laughed some more. “Come back to bed now.” McCree smiled at her fondly and crossed the room back to the bed, pulling the covers back over himself. Mercy stretched out on her back, pushing her arms up against the headboard and shifting her legs about under the sheets. “Mmm, I can’t go back to sleep. I tried, but it didn’t last.”

“Me neither,” said McCree, “and I don’t think I helped you at all when I got up.”

“Well you can help me now,” said Mercy as she moved closer to him and cuddled up against his neck and chest. She planted a kiss on McCree’s collar bone and he chuckled, nuzzling against the top of her head with a purring hum. Her kisses started to move upward, making a trail that led all the way over and around his jawline to his lips. A swipe of Mercy’s tongue and a gentle nibble on his lower lip prompted McCree to deepen the kiss and he complied with some measure of confusion. He grunted into the kiss and backed off just enough to voice his thoughts.

“I thought you said you wanted to rest.”

“I do,” said Mercy, dipping back in to kiss him deeply again as her hand found his hair again, “but I woke up with all this energy. That takes priority, don’t you agree?”

“But doesn’t everything still hurt?” asked McCree.

“So we won’t be as rough,” said Mercy. Gently she ran the tips of her fingers against his scalp. “Surely you can manage that.”

“Surely I can,” said McCree, leaning into their next kiss more. “Just give me a second.” He sat up in bed, pulling the covers down halfway, and reached up to stretch. With a few more grunts and some uncomfortably loud pops from his shoulders, back, and neck, he sighed out loud as he relaxed. “There,” he said as he rolled his head from side to side. “Much better.” Mercy pulled her legs the rest of the way out from under the covers and set her feet on the bed, knees toward the ceiling. She beckoned to him with one finger and McCree bent down again for another deep, hot kiss. He could feel his heartbeat picking up, though it had yet to travel to the opposite end of his body. “How do you wanna get this started?” he asked at the earliest break in their kiss. “You said no to my usual idea last night.”

“Hmm,” Mercy hummed into another kiss. “Perhaps I shouldn’t dismiss it so readily. I really don’t know how different it will feel.” She grinned up at McCree and he felt the first thump of his heart down below. “How about we find out together?”

McCree licked his lips in full view. “I think that’s a great idea.” He leaned back down to kiss the side of Mercy’s mouth, then her jaw, the nape of her neck and the little dip between her clavicles. She purred at the sensation, wiggling a little under the tickle of McCree’s beard as his chin bumped up against her chest. He paused in his trail of kisses to run the tip of his tongue through the open valley between her breasts, relishing the sound of her shudder, and brought his mouth to one breast, flicking at the nipple with his tongue like he had the previous night. A soft cry escaped Mercy as he did it and McCree laughed through his nose before he broke away. “Hey, let me pass.” He bumped his shoulder against her leg and she lowered it long enough for him to sit himself between them. He paused there for a moment, his eyes roving up and down along her form laid out on the bed and waiting for him. “Oh, you look so beautiful like this,” he said, bending down to plant sticky kisses down her abdominal muscles. Her hands found their way into his hair again and he hummed against her belly. “Just say something if you don’t like how it feels and I’ll stop, I promise.”

“Of course,” sighed Mercy, gently pushing his head down the rest of the way. McCree let out a laugh that rang from the deepest part of his chest, almost devilish in its low pitch.

“You ready?” he asked, looking up into what he could see of Mercy’s face. She nodded with tremendous vigor, shaking the mattress, and McCree chuckled again. “Alright.” He set his hands at the base of each of Mercy’s legs, fingers gripping only lightly, and brought his mouth to her. It was only seconds before he had her writhing, pulling hard at his hair and moaning his name out into the empty room around them.

* * * *

Some days later, hours after returning from another deployment, McCree spotted Mercy walking into the Watchpoint’s rec room as he sat back inside with his feet up on another chair. She had already changed out of her Valkyrie suit, opting for a pale blue sweater with a high collar and her usual dark slacks. McCree couldn’t hold back a sly smirk at the height of that collar; he knew the shape of every new mark on her neck that it covered. He hadn’t even bothered to change yet, still decked out in all of his gear. His hat and glove were set aside on the table he sat next to, though, and he was eating chunks of fruit off a little dish beside them. Mercy’s eyes settled on him and she walked over, resting a hand on his shoulder through his draping serape.

“Afternoon, Angie,” said McCree, sticking another piece of fruit in his mouth.

“Mm,” Mercy hummed in reply, eying the dish. “What do you have there?”

“Pineapple,” said McCree, swallowing the bit he’d been chewing. “I had Lena pick it up from the market in town. Figured I should have something healthy to snack on.”

“A very good idea,” said Mercy. “Why pineapple in particular?”

“Well first off,” said McCree, “it’s delicious.” He picked up another piece and popped it into his mouth, chewing it a bit before he spoke again. “Second, and this is for your ears only, I heard a rumor about what happens when someone with a body like mine eats these.” He leaned back further in his seat and winked at Mercy. “You ever heard that one? Any truth to it?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” said Mercy, one finger tugging at her lower lip, “but I have no idea if it’s true.”

“I was thinking we could test it out,” said McCree, sucking the juice off the very tips of his fingers before setting his hand down on top of Mercy’s. “Tonight, if you’re up for it. Even if we don’t do that part, I feel like doing something big to thank you for all your hard work watching our backs out there today. That sound good to you?”

“Oh, yes it does,” said Mercy with a sigh behind her words, her finger still playing with her lip, “but the experiment you’re proposing will need more than just one trial. There are too many variables to account for.” She raised her eyes to lock them with McCree’s. “Failing to proceed properly with research like this would be a terrible reflection on me as a professional.” McCree said nothing, his eyes hilariously wide, and he swallowed the fruit in his mouth loudly. “We will need to plan this extensively,” Mercy continued, her voice sinking lower. “Vary the times of day in which you eat the pineapple and the quantities in which you eat it. This way we can narrow down the conditions needed to achieve the desired effect, if such a thing can be done. How do you feel about this idea?”

“Good,” said McCree with a loud squeak in his voice. He cleared his throat before attempting to speak again. “Real good.”

“Excellent,” said Mercy. “We can begin trials immediately. Or perhaps in a few more hours, realistically speaking.” She put her other hand on McCree’s head and ruffled his hair. “Plenty of time for you to shower and put on clean clothes.” McCree grumbled at that, reaching up with his prosthesis to smooth his hair back down, but he smiled again half a second after.

“And how many of these ‘trials’ do you think we’ll need to do?” he asked.

Mercy grinned. “However many it takes to either get the outcome we seek and reproduce it well enough multiple times to call our results conclusive, or prove that such an outcome is not possible using our methods.”

McCree leaned his head against Mercy’s arm with a sigh. “I love the way you think.” His expression faltered and he glanced at the dish, one piece still sitting on it. “Sure hope I don’t get sick of pineapple by the end of this, though.”

“Yes,” said Mercy with a grimace, “that would be an unfortunate side effect.” She leaned on McCree’s shoulder to reach out and pick up the bit of pineapple and turned it over in her fingers. “Still, the prospect of performing the tests in and of itself might prove enough motivation to continue indefinitely, no?”

McCree purred, a low humming sound from the center of his chest. “Oh, yes it would.” Mercy moved the pineapple chunk right to his lips and he opened his mouth for her to feed it to him. She dropped the piece onto his tongue, but before she could withdraw her hand, he captured it in the fingers of his prosthesis, taking care not to squeeze her too hard as he held her prisoner.

“Jesse, what are…” The question died as McCree finished chewing and swallowing the fruit. Looking straight into Mercy’s eyes, he lifted her fingers back to his mouth and closed his lips around the ends of them, raking his tongue against their tips to taste the remaining juice on her skin. “Oh,” she breathed, a pink tint rising on her face. McCree hummed, pressing his lips harder against Mercy’s fingers before he opened them and released her.

“So,” he said with the world’s most smug expression, “your room or mine?”

“Y-yours,” Mercy answered, her body visibly vibrating.

“Alright,” said McCree, rising from his seat and scooping up his belongings. He pulled his glove back on and set his hat on his head, taking the dish in his left hand. “I’ll see you a little later, then. Right now I reckon I oughta get started on that shower.” Mercy was notably calmer already, her hands on her hips as she flashed a lopsided smile at him, and McCree tipped his hat to her before he turned and left. It was true what he’d been thinking the other day as he sat on the roof with his cigar; a lot had changed since he had been here last, both at this Watchpoint and in Mercy’s arms at night, but underneath all the changes, he found, the most important parts were still the same. He chuckled to himself as the thought crossed his mind and he walked down the hall toward his room to drop off all the gear he was still wearing and grab a clean set of clothes. He had another big night ahead of him now.


End file.
